


The New God

by MeriKG



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2020-07-25 23:23:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20034049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeriKG/pseuds/MeriKG
Summary: Dean Winchester and Castiel had a good thing going before Cas ate Purgatory.  Despite what he said, GodCastiel hasn't forgotten his favorite pet.  And Sam's poor broken brain isn't getting any less Lucifery.Sex and Dubcon heavy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an explanation story regarding a discussion Castiel had with Dean in my other story 'It's Different in 2-D', which is significantly more cheerfully smutty. Either can be read as a standalone. 
> 
> I have no beta, any mistakes or typos are all on me. I apologize in advance.

Dean awoke with sudden, absolute knowledge that he wasn’t alone in the hotel room. A glance to his right showed Sam sleeping peacefully in a bed that was a tad too short for his overlong frame, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest easing Dean’s most immediate concerns.

Of course, the deeper implications of his brother’s state spoke to a whole other issue. Sam didn’t sleep easily these days.

“Dean.”

Dean rolled over onto his side peering over to the familiar, motionless form standing at the bedside next to him. The figure was largely shadowed, though the unrelenting blue of his eyes nearly glowed in the darkness. 

No, they were actually glowing, Dean decided. He was fairly certain that the Angel wasn’t doing it deliberately. He was just that juiced. 

“Cas,” Dean acknowledged his nocturnal visitor, tone neutral. 

Dean rubbed his eyes, willing the exhaustion away. “What brings your almighty visage down upon us lowly commoners at,” he paused to grab the little bedside alarm clock, peering blearily at the glowing red digits, “2:47 in the freaking morning?”

There was nothing of lightness or humor in Dean’s tone. He was cold, remote. Castiel had betrayed him, completely, in the worst possible way. Dean could forgive nearly any offense against him, but Cas had screwed with his family, knowing full well what breaking Sam’s mental wall would do to him. Worse, he’d done it before absorbing most of Purgatory into his body. When he was still the original Cas, more or less. 

As per his usual sleeping routine, Dean had an Angel blade stashed under his pillow, but he didn’t bother to reach for it. Castiel 2.0 had already proven impervious to that particular weapon. 

“What did you do to Sam?” Dean growled, voice extra-sandpapery from sleep.

“Nothing harmful. He’s merely sleeping,” Cas replied calmly, glancing briefly over at the mound of peacefully resting Winchester. Sam let out a snort, rolled over, and began to snore softly. 

“He’ll wake two hours after sunrise, well rested and refreshed. I’ve even ensured that he’ll have pleasant dreams. Wasn’t that generous of me, all things considered?”

Dean hid his relief under his familiar mask of bitterness and sarcasm. It wasn’t difficult. “Yeah, Cas. You’re a real prince among deities. Now what the hell do you want?” 

He was bone-tired, and didn’t bother to hide the emptiness in his voice. This version of Castiel wouldn’t care one way or another, anyway. And Dean would be damned if he showed an ounce of respect to the being that had consistently lied to them and ultimately broken his brother’s head.

“I’ve been…very busy since my ascendance,” Cas replied, taking a seat next to Dean on the bed. “It occurred to me that even the former God rested once a week. I’ve decided I’ve earned a respite from my Good work.”

“That’s just swell, Cas. Good for you. Take a vacation from all the smiting. I hear Maui is nice this time of year,” Dean told him. “Have a mai tai or ten.”

“I have no interest in alcoholic beverages,” Cas stated, deadpan as always. 

He placed a warm hand on Dean’s bicep, sliding his palm under the thin t-shirt. The Angel’s grip tightened possessively at the spot where his palm print had once been burned into Dean’s flesh, marked to his very DNA by the being who had pulled him from the Pit.

“I’ve chosen a different indulgence during my Rest,” Cas added absently, eyes traveling intently down the Hunter’s long body.

“Wow. Lucky me,” Dean muttered, not even pretending to miss the implicit meaning in the Angel’s proprietary touch.

“Yes,” Cas agreed. “You should be flattered. In a world full of options, I’m choosing you as my just reward. It’d be wise to show some gratitude.”

“You know what? Bite me, Cas.”

“I might,” Cas answered distantly, his attention elsewhere. “I’m keeping my options open.” 

Castiel pushed at Dean’s shoulder, sending him rolling fully onto his back. Dean allowed it, tucking one arm behind him to pillow his head as he watched warily for Cas’ next move. He didn’t bother attempting to talk with the uber Angel. He’d already considered all his options the moment Castiel made his intentions known. It was simple math, really. As things currently stood, Sam was safe. More than that, he was getting a full night’s worth of quality sleep for the first time in forever. 

As yet, they still no idea about what, if any thing, could actually hurt GodCas, so there was no real point in trying to fight him. And there wasn’t really any reason to bother, anyway. It wasn’t as if what was about to happen was anything like new for Dean. 

And as long as Dean didn’t actually say ‘no,’ he’d never have to find out whether or not Castiel would honor it. 

Dean silently watched as Cas moved his hand, placing his splayed palm on Dean’s sternum, heat building as the hand began to glow with a cool blue light. The Angel slid his hand in a midline strip down the length of his chest in a smooth move, the contact touched with a kiss of heat, followed by the cool rush of air against bare skin. Good thing he wasn’t particularly fond of that shirt, Dean thought as the burnt remnants of fabric fell away. Though that had been one of his newer ones, he thought ruefully, watching the particles flitter onto the bedspread. 

The familiar sound of heavy fabric dropping caught his attention, and a glance up confirmed that Cas had dumped his trench coat to the floor. 

A firm grip on Dean’s thigh a moment later warned him to be still. It took real effort not to jerk away. The familiar touch that had never failed to make him burn in all the right ways now just gave him the creeps. Dean took a deep, even breath, willing his body to stay calm, muscles loose. Because his instincts were screaming at him to fight or run. 

Dean didn’t trust this version of Castiel with a toothpick, much less his body. Filled as he was with all the souls of Purgatory, the angel turned Deity was capable of anything.

Apparently GodCas was as entranced with Dean’s body as his previous, moderately less psycho incarnation. Cas ran soft fingers down his chest, gaze intent. He didn’t go lower for Dean’s ‘money spot’, instead letting his touch rove at random, Pectorals, abs, an occasional flick over a nipple. 

This wasn’t a new thing. Cas had always been fond of…well, petting for lack of a better word. He could spend an hour just touching. Dean would be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed the angel’s focused attention, his clear admiration and pleasure in Dean’s body. But that was before Cas had chosen to betray them. 

“Dean,” Cas voice brought him out of his musings. “I want you to roll over onto your stomach.” The order in his tone brooked no discussion. Apparently foreplay time was over.

“You sweet talker, you,” Dean replied, even as he moved onto his belly. 

A shift on the bed marked Cas settling back down beside him, both hands on Dean’s body now, caressing and massaging. Dean squeezed the pillow under his head, senses on high alert as he listened for the Angel’s next move. Another flash of heat, and the remainder of his clothing joined his shirt in a pile of ashes on the bed. Dean winced. That one, he regretted. Those had been awesome jeans. 

The sound of a cap popping echoed through the quiet a moment later, and he bit back a sigh of relief. Dean had done this without lube a time or two before, and it generally ended bloody. The last time, he’d been nearly feral, the loss of a friend during a hunt driving him to new heights in his need for distraction. He’d needed the pain, then, and Castiel, a soldier and no stranger to the crushing weight of loss, had obliged, though he’d healed Dean within minutes of their mutual completion. That was the Cas he used to trust. 

Cas knelt over Dean’s prone form, the feel of bare skin warning the hunter that Cas had stripped completely. “Relax, Dean. I won’t hurt you,” Cas murmured.

Dean didn’t believe a word the angel said, but in all truthfulness, it didn’t matter all that much to him. He was too broken to trust, too tired and disillusioned to care.

The intrusion, when it came a few moments later, filled his body, the thrust slick and hot, and bitterly reminded Dean of too many other times with his angel lover. Stolen moments in hotel rooms while Sam was out, or Dean professed to be at a bar somewhere. 

He didn’t know why he’d never told Sam, or anyone else about what they’d been up to. He was hardly ashamed. Dean was a self-pronounced horn dog and Castiel’s vessel was stupid pretty. Dean wasn’t one to judge how consenting adults chose to get off; screwing the angel didn’t evoke any strong moral issues for him. 

But it was a private thing. Something he’d consciously decided not to talk about. Not that he really believed Sam was unaware. His big little brother was far too astute to miss the signs.

Cas didn’t give him any time to adjust or stretch to accommodate what was a fairly generous helping of cock, but they tended to skip that part anyway. Dean could handle the burn, and he’d usually preferred his sex with men to be a little on the rough side. 

After a few minutes of Cas moving in him, Dean’s body responded in the predictable way. Cas had learned to be a fairly skilled lover and without even bothering to try, he’d managed to press a number of Dean’s buttons. His cock, trapped between his body and the rough sheets was getting just enough friction to keep things interesting, though Dean had no intention of actually letting go. Cas could fuck him into next Tuesday if that was what he wanted, but no way in hell was Dean going to give up an orgasm for him. 

Cas, for all that he’d proven multiple times to have absolute control over his vessel, came surprisingly quickly. He pulled out a moment later, then was standing at the bedside next to Dean’s head, fully dressed once more.

Dean stretched out; taking stock of the minor aches left over from their activity. Nothing major. A hot shower and he’d be good to go.

“Well, that was really something, Cas,” he muttered, rolling over to his side to meet the other man’s cool gaze.

Castiel’s eyes gleamed in the darkness, backlit with his stolen power. His expression however, was troubled. Or disappointed, maybe. Dean didn’t really give a crap. 

“Next time, I’m stealing you away for the night,” Cas promised. “This was sufficiently pleasant for a minor diversion, but I remember it being far better.”

“Well, maybe next time you won’t pop your cork faster then a teenager with his first porno mag,” Dean snarked. 

Pointedly dismissing the Angel, he rolled the other direction; curled up on the bed in roughly the same position he’d been in before Cas’ arrival and closed his eyes. When he next opened them, Castiel was gone. 

“Good riddance, you feathered dick,” he muttered rising to pad to the shower for a quick scrub up in the blessedly hot water.

He finished up and went back to the room, confirming that Sam continued to sleep on, oblivious to their nocturnal visitor. That was good. If Dean had his way, Sam would never find out about tonight. Dean put on a different set of clothes and dug the whisky bottle out from the side of the bed, downing the remaining contents in a few swallows.

Just another fun filled day in the life of Dean Winchester, he thought with dark humor. Pulling up the sheet around his waist, he went back to sleep.


	2. All In All, It's Just Another Fist Through a Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which GodCas isn't done with his pet, Sam isn't as oblivious as he seems, and everything sucks for Dean. 
> 
> (I wrote this at the same time as The New God and was never really sure what to do with it. Rather than leave an fully finished story to languish on my desktop, I'll stick it here and as a standalone.)

\--------------------------

Sam finished getting dressed, taking his sweet time. For once, they weren’t in any big hurry. Dean had nearly finished loading the Impala, but he could wait. Sam was just so tired. Sleep had become a rare and precious commodity, what with Lucifer playing Angel of Music 24-7 in his subconscious. 

And really, Sam needed to stop giving his own personal Satan any new ideas. The Devil was well entrenched in his head, and more than once the illusionary nightmare had seemed to glean inspiration from Sam’s own thoughts. The last thing he needed was two days straight of Music of the Night playing on loop. Twelve hours of Toto had been agony enough. 

Sam stood up, sliding his bag over his shoulder and turned toward the door, swearing to himself when he noticed. There it was again. A fist-shaped dent in the wall, right about at his shoulder level. If it hadn’t been tinged faintly with blood, Sam would most likely never have noticed.

This wasn’t exactly a new thing. He’d seen these exact marks plenty of times before when his brother had punched a wall, for any number of reasons. But when Dean was well and truly pissed, plain old drywall didn’t stand a chance; he always punched clean through. This was more a skid, like he’d pulled the punch.

Not again. 

The first time Sam had seen this type of mark since waking up crazy, he’d had his suspicions, but no facts to back it up. The second time he’d noticed, he’d made a point of watch his brother; noting odd moments or behaviors suggesting he was newly injured for no reasons that Sam knew of. 

And once he knew to look, there’d been signs aplenty. On rare occasion Dean even had Sam drive for a while. An unusual occurrence, but Sam had seen it before, when Dean wanted room to shift and change positions during a long car ride. It used to highly amuse him. But that was when Dean had brought whatever caused the discomfort on himself. 

Sam was nearly completely certain that Dean had known for a long time that Sam was aware of his nocturnal extracurricular activities. It’s not like either Dean or Castiel were blessed with the gift of subtlety. But Cas wasn’t really Cas anymore. Not now that he was full to bursting with millions of stolen souls. And if he was still coming to Dean in the middle of the night… 

Sam sighed. Dean wouldn’t talk about it if he asked. He hadn’t when he and Cas had first started going bump in the night, and he almost certainly wouldn’t now.

Because it was unlikely that Dean was still openly seeking out a hookup with the rebel-angel, considering what Castiel had done to them. But the usual signs were definitely there; sex was almost certainly still happening. And Castiel was a God, now. 

Sam hefted his bag and left the hotel, taking one reluctance glance back at the dented wall. Dean was leaning against the Impala, patiently waiting when Sam finally emerged. Also not a good sign. 

“Sleep well?” Sam asked, stowing his bag in the trunk.

He snuck a glance around the raised trunk lid, noting the way Dean’s shoulders stiffened at the question.

“Like a baby,” his big brother replied, tone wry. They both knew Dean didn’t sleep well. 

“How about you?” Dean asked, a little too carefully. “Any weird dreams?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t think so. None that I can remember, anyway.” In point of fact, he felt better well rested than usual. He might actually have gotten a few hours of honest to god rest.

“That’s a good thing,” Dean replied, a hint of relief in his expression. “You have enough nightmares.”

God’s honest truth. And Sam wasn’t telling his brother half of it. Why burden Dean with things that couldn’t be fixed? And that right there might be the unfortunate answer to Sam’s own unasked question. 

“Head’s up,” Sam looked up just in time to see the Impala’s keys flying at his head. He snapped them out of the air before they pinged him in the face.

“Since you’re so well rested and all, how about you drive for a bit?”

Sam shrugged, careful in his display of nonchalance. “Works for me.” That Dean was having him drive his Baby, knowing Sam’s predilection for daytime hallucination, was telling.  
\--------------

Dean slid carefully into the passenger seat. He’d put the best shocks available into the car the last time he’d rebuilt her, so hopefully they’d have a smooth ride. It would help if His Godliness, Saint Castiel the Lord Douchebag had bothered to heal Dean after he’d finished getting his rocks off. Sometimes he did. Usually, in fact. But Dean had gotten mouthy again last night. Apparently Cas had decided to make a point. 

Maybe Dean shouldn’t have called him a shitty lay. But he’d been hurting, on several different levels, and pain always drove him say things he probably shouldn’t. No matter, he’d heal up in a day or two. There had only been a little blood, and after a hot shower and a couple of Tylenol, the throbbing had receded to more of a dull ache.

He had no regrets. Not really. A few minutes of rough sex against a wall was a small price to pay for the benefits. Every time Dean played ball, gave Cas what he wanted without kicking a fuss, the Angel did something for Sam’s mind. Dean wasn’t sure what it was, but Sam always slept peacefully through the night afterward and woke brighter, the signs that he was seeing invisible crap noticeably absent. For a while. 

Cas wasn’t fixing Sam; he’d made it clear that that particular boat had sailed back when Dean and Bobby had tried to stop him from opening Purgatory. 

But whatever he was doing, it was at least slowing things down, giving Dean’s giant-sized little brother a desperately needed respite. Cas probably thought he was being generous in helping Sam. Rewarding his favorite pet’s good behavior, or whatever bullshit the Uber-Angel felt like spewing in the moment. It would go easier on him if Dean could keep his damn mouth shut, but that just wasn’t his way. 

Whatever. None of that crap mattered. What did matter was that there was something, anything, Dean could do to take the pressure off his brother, even it was temporary. It was hardly the first devil’s bargain Dean had made to ensure Sam’s safety. 

Dean slid into the passenger seat, hiding a wince of pain from his watchful brother’s attention. The next night that that one-pump-chump of an Angel popped in for a quickie; Dean was definitely keeping his smart-ass comments to himself. Actually, that was a good one. One-pump-chump. Cas would hate it. He’d have to remember it for next time.


End file.
